


I'll be your rabbit in the headlights

by earlgreyson



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreyson/pseuds/earlgreyson
Summary: "The demon absentmindedly ran his hand through his hair, the fifth such time he’d done so in the past half hour. A low thrum of anxiety had taken residence in his stomach after Armaged-Not and refused to leave, even after the complete radio silence from the respective offices of Heaven and Hell that had followed the trials. Part of Crowley reveled in the newfound freedom, but another whispering part thought this can’t be over."Crowley has some fears and Aziraphale tracks him down, looking for answers.





	I'll be your rabbit in the headlights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nyves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyves/gifts).



> for @nyves who is an eternal cheerleader and who didn't laugh at this lesbian's attempt to write m/m funtimes. Love you boo, you're the freaking best.
> 
> Inspired by Those Nights by Bastille.

Sun filtered through late summer clouds as it crawled down the sky, the world painted in pastels as London moved in its own inexplicable way. If asked, Crowley would have said he preferred a clear sunset—blinding colors burning and inescapable even with dark sunglasses. He was not posed the question however, as he wandered through St. James Park. He cradled a cup of coffee from a local place, but he’d swapped the caffeine for whisky fairly early on and sipped on it occasionally as he walked.

The demon absentmindedly ran his hand through his hair, the fifth such time he’d done so in the past half hour. A low thrum of anxiety had taken residence in his stomach after Armaged-Not and refused to leave, even after the complete radio silence from the respective offices of Heaven and Hell that had followed the trials. Part of Crowley reveled in the newfound freedom, but another whispering part thought _this can’t be over_.

Though he had been sleeping fairly regularly since the fall of Eden, Crowley had been fighting insomnia for the past few months. Noises in the night caught him straining to hear the telltale signs of someone approaching, his mind refused to shut down as he lay in bed and spent him spinning through every little thing that had and could go wrong.

If he’d been human, somebody would probably recommended therapy by this point. As a demon, he found the thought completely laughable. _Yeah, I hung out with the wrong crowd and they ruined my life before forcing me to work for them. And then when they tried to end the world I got put on trial and sentenced to annihilation for stopping them._ That would go over well.

So Crowley didn’t go to therapy and he certainly didn’t go back to Hell, though in some of his worst moments it sometimes felt like he had.

He also had been finding excuses not to go around to the bookshop. Aziraphale had luckily seemed not to notice as they still met fairly regularly for lunch and drinks, but it had been almost a month since Crowley had last stepped foot in the shop.

There were no words to explain the dread that had begun to rise when he entered the shop now, the roar that would fill his ears and the heat that would wash over him. There was no way to describe how he could _feel_ Aziraphale’s eyes on him no matter where he was, how the hair would rise on his arms and the pressure of that awareness prickled the back of his neck. Crowley felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin, so he’d been a complete adult about the whole thing and started to avoid the shop entirely.

The man saw their bench ahead as the ducks eyed him hopefully from the pond. Draining the last of his whisky, Crowley flopped down on the seat with a sigh and a hand wearily run over his face. In the quiet part of himself that still somehow hoped for redemption he knew that even though they had won, he hadn’t come through the end the way he’d gone into it.

Some things could not pass through fire without being forever changed and Crowley had been thrown to the flames so often it felt like he would burn forever.

Crowley slumped on the bench and let his eyes close for a moment, letting the peace of the park filter through him like the light through leaves. When the thrum of anxiety did not ease, he sighed again and with a small _crack!_ disappeared.

It had been 3 weeks, 2 days, 6 hours, and 19 minutes since Crowley had last swept into the bookshop and dragged Aziraphale out to an early dinner near Trafalgar Square. Since then, the angel had seen his friend five times and none of them had been private.

Coffee around the corner from St. Paul’s, Pinot Noir at a new wine bar down the road from Crowley’s flat, brunch at a small place off of Clerkenwell Road. While none of these places had been particularly busy when they’d gone in, there was still enough people around that Aziraphale couldn’t talk to the demon about what he really wanted to.

Things like the bags that slowly grew darker under Crowley’s eyes as the days passed. They were mostly hidden by his sunglasses, but the angel knew Crowley’s face almost better than his own and he couldn’t help but notice. He saw the line that had started to form between the demon’s brows, the tension that pressed his lips just a little too thin, and he wanted to say _there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore, I won’t let them touch you._

But the time was never right and Aziraphale was left trying to put all the words he wanted to say in his eyes. He’d always been good at translating, but this was a language he did not know.

The clock on his desk chimed, causing the man to jump as he was pulled from his reverie. He’d sat down hours ago with the intention of reading a newly acquired copy of _Paradise Lost_ —a collector he occasionally worked with had found Milton’s first run through of edits and _of course_ Aziraphale had to have it.

He’d been trying to read for hours, but his thoughts kept turning back to the demon who had once been a trumpet of energy but now felt like a dirge. Aziraphale hated it but God help him if he knew how to fix it.

It had been 3 weeks, 2 days, 6 hours, and 31 minutes since Crowley had last been to visit. If the man would not come to him, maybe it was time for him to go to the man.

As the thought hit Aziraphale, a fierce determination rose in him. He didn’t bother to close the book in front of him or return his now cold cocoa to the small kitchen in the back. The angel stood quickly, straightened his tie, and with a wave as he passed through the front door, doused the lights and locked the door behind him. He was going to get to the bottom of this, of that he was sure.

The third empty bottle of Glenlivet slipped off the coffee table and _thunked_ hollowly on the wood floor. Crowley made no move to right it, splayed on his back on the sofa. Instead he lazily let his arm fall from his chest to brush the fourth bottle and grunted as he pulled it up to stand on his stomach. Cracking the seal, he pulled the cap off and tossed it carelessly near the remains of his previous bottles. Then he took a large gulp and watched the room swim slightly around him.

The radio played softly in the background, not that Crowley was really listening. It was a fine night for morose thoughts and he’d been having some very fitting ones. In the darkness of his flat and with the aid of considerable amounts of alcohol, Crowley let himself lay there and feel. Isolation mixed with fear and desires he shouldn’t have curled around him like a blanket.

There was something almost comforting about letting himself drown.

 _“Oh, you’ll never get to heaven on a night like this,"_ the man on the radio crooned, Crowley’s ears seized on the word _heaven_ and the depressed looseness in his limbs vanished. In an instant he had tensed, eyes flying open as he wildly looked about the room.

He was alone. No angels or demons dogging his steps, no orders to be acted on, no traps waiting to be sprung. So why did he feel so wrung out and on edge?

Trying to ease back into the sofa, Crowley continued to drink. If he didn’t sober himself up maybe he could finally find some dreamless sleep. He needed some kind of rest, some kind of release from this strain that made him feel stretched and worn through. If someone held him up to the light you would see sky through his skin.

The demon had lost track of time hours ago, but he knew it was probably past midnight when the ether around his building was suddenly interrupted by a holy presence. If he hadn’t known this particular ethereal signature better than his own name, Crowley would have been up and out of there in a second. He did know this signature though—and in the moment it filled him with a dread he couldn’t shake—but he stayed put. Following the sounds of someone shuffling up the stairs and moving closer, Crowley steeled himself.

When the small knock on his door came, he waved it open without standing. Footsteps echoed in the hall as the door was shut quietly and Aziraphale came into the living room.

The angel took in the sight in front of him wordlessly; the empty bottles and the splay of Crowley’s long limbs. Remained quiet as he miracled the rubbish away and walked slowly over to the sofa. He waited patiently as Crowley drunkenly rearranged himself so that Aziraphale could sit next to him. Aziraphale sat in silence for a long moment, hands curled in his lap, and Crowley watched him.

They sat in silence for a while, only broken by the quiet sips Crowley took from the bottle of whisky in hand. He offered the bottle to Aziraphale who sighed and took it from him, gulped a little before handing it back.

“I wish…” the angel started, paused, started again. “I do wish you would tell me what’s going on, my dear.”

Crowley closed his eyes. _Of course_ , he thought, _of course this would happen._

“I’m fine as a spr—”

“ _Please,_ don’t lie to me.”

Crowley stopped at the quiet warning in the man’s voice, mouth a little open in surprise before he snapped it shut. He didn’t say anything and Aziraphale let him sit in his silence. Minutes ticked by and though Crowley’s eyes were still closed he could feel the weight of the angel’s gaze on him. He felt so _heavy_ , like stone at the bottom of the ocean.

“D’you know, I thought oncce we stopped the war I would stop feeling like thiss.” Crowley’s voice hissed, soft and thin. If he’d been looking he would have seen Aziraphale start to reach out but froze as the other man continued. “I keep dreaming of fire.”

There was a brittleness that flickered over Crowley’s face and Aziraphale couldn’t help it, he rested his hand on the exposed ankle tucked next to him. The demon’s eyes flashed open and Aziraphale felt him tense slightly before relaxing again. They stared at each other for a moment.

Crowley didn’t want to say that he had dreamed of more than fire, but the core fear was the same. It wasn’t the fire itself that had caused this newfound terror, it was what the flames had done.

He also didn’t want to admit that he felt most at peace when in the company of old enemy that had never felt like a danger. That he was at his most afraid when he was alone.

“I didn’t know you dreamed,” Aziraphale said finally, somewhat at a loss for words. A sharp smirk cut across Crowley’s face like a wound.

“Nah, I didn’t before.”

Aziraphale knows the answer, but he asks the question anyways. “Before what?”

Crowley didn’t respond immediately, just drank heavily from the bottle still in his hand before offering it to the angel. Aziraphale sipped gently but didn’t hand it back. When it became clear he was holding the bottle hostage in return for Crowley’s thoughts, the demon groaned lowly.

“Before I found your shop burning to the ground and no trace of you anywhere. Before I ssaw what they would do to you because of me.”

From the look on his face, Aziraphale hadn’t expected that. He let Crowley snatch the whisky as he thought. Then after a moment, he took it back and drained the bottle.

“Woah, slow down, angel. You don’t have to play catch up here—” the demon started but shut up when Aziraphale shot him a heatless glare.

“Were you ever going to tell me about this, dear, or were you just going to do your very best to discorporate by way of alcohol poisoning?” The angel’s tone made Crowley pause, the levels of hurt and concern and anger making it hard to figure out which one was winning.

“Ummm…” he said quite intelligently, “I honesstly don’t know?”

And really, he didn’t. Crowley liked to think he would have dealt with the dreams in good time, but the now five empty bottles of booze maybe indicated otherwise. Aziraphale gave a huge sigh and slumped forward to let his forehead fall to rest on the demon’s bent knee. Crowley tensed at the contact, but if Aziraphale noticed he said nothing.

“You were the one who told me that we are on our own side. That means that I am on _your_ side, my dear, and I want to—” he stopped, apparently looking for the words and finding them not available. He lifted his head high enough to look at Crowley as he propped his chin on top of the rather bony kneecap. Crowley searched the man’s gaze for something unsaid and he knew that Aziraphale was doing the same.

With an impulsiveness that is almost always born of drink, Crowley reached forward until his long fingers cupped Aziraphale’s cheek. He absentmindedly brushed his thumb along the ridge of a sharp cheekbone. His eyes flicked to the color rise underneath his fingers and some kind of tension in his chest rose with it.

Aziraphale’s gaze was steady as the moment dragged but Crowley could see behind them that something was turning in the wheels of the angel’s mind. No words came to him to describe the swirling mix of anxiety and comfort and concern that whirled within him, so he let Aziraphale work through his thoughts in peace and waited.

“I don’t want to pretend that nothing has changed,” he finally drew out, holding Crowley’s eyes with the same kind of kind determination as he had when dealing with ignorant mobsters. 

“We’ve been doing this dance too long, I think. I know it has taken me awhile to see there was a different way to be, but I’m here now.”

There was a steel in the way he said _I’m here now_ , a peek at the force of nature that had guarded the Eastern Gate, that had been made one of Her Principalities, that had faced down Heaven and Hell with nothing but faith in a demon and a sword he hadn’t held in millennia.

Crowley’s hand still lay on Aziraphale’s cheek. He felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop as he watched the man slowly, deliberately, turned into the hand and pressed a kiss into his palm. His gaze never left Crowley’s face, and the demon could see a flash of victory in those blue eyes at the reaction he had received. Aziraphale reached up and took the hand in his, carefully curling Crowley’s fingers around his so that he could kiss the knuckles.

Crowley had practically begun to vibrate, reeling between warring emotions and screeching thoughts. In all the realities he had dreamed of, that was probably as far from what he had expected as he could get.

The only thing more unbelievable would be if She was kissing him. And that felt a little weird to contemplate so he quickly shut that down.

“You—I— _Angel_ —” he stuttered out and he very much wanted to glare at the slow amused smile that began to grow on Aziraphale’s lips but found that he couldn’t when the man kissed his hand again. “Stop that, you’re distracting me.”

Aziraphale didn’t seem perturbed by the slight tension in Crowley’s tone, just held the captured hand close and watched the other man try to formulate a coherent thought.

It took about five minutes, give or take, for Crowley to get past _ohmyfuckwhatthefuck_ and slide pretty firmly into _IwantmoreIneedmore._ So he did what any partially drunk—to be honest his heart rate had burned off more than he cared to admit—hopelessly repressed man would do.

Crowley surged forward, pushing Aziraphale up and crowding him against the arm of the sofa, and kissed him _hard_.

Hands flew everywhere, the strained restraint that had held the demon’s longing in check for _six thousand fucking years_ dissolved in a second. Crowley needed to touch everything, his fingers reveling in the softness of Aziraphale, the heat that radiated from him even in the height of summer, the silken curls he had been dying to pull for so long. The way he moaned just a little into Crowley’s searching lips would have made the man’s eyes roll back in his head if they’d been open.

Instead a groan of his own tore out of him and he suddenly pulled back just enough to dive in and taste the slight exposure of skin just below Aziraphale’s ear that had been taunting since the Garden. He chuckled to himself as the other man moaned _very loud_ and pressed his body up into Crowley’s.

“ _Oh my, ohmyword_ —” the angel choked as Crowley nipped at his neck with the kind of dedication that would have—had he still been working for Hell—gotten him several commendations.

But Crowley no longer worked for Hell and Aziraphale no longer worked for Heaven. Now they were in a reality all their own, at the feet of a new world that held endless possibilities for them. Right then, Crowley _really_ wanted to explore the possibility of what the skin underneath Aziraphale’s collar tasted like.

Aziraphale pushed at him slightly and Crowley paused above him, slight gasps coming from his bruised lips. He was pleased to see how wide the angel’s eyes were, how flushed he looked as he gazed back at Crowley. _He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen_ , the demon thought dumbly, eyes flicking down for a moment as Aziraphale licked his lips. He wanted to chase after it, taste it—

“I love you, my dear, but I think if we’re going to continue this I need you to promise me that you will tell me what is wrong if you’re upset. I can’t help if I don’t know what you’re thinking. We’re partners,” Aziraphale murmured gently and Crowley’s thoughts came again to a screeching halt.

He had been on his own team for so long, Crowley didn’t think he knew how to handle not being alone. He’d deny it to anyone who asked, but a secret part of his heart had been yearning to no longer _have_ to stand alone, to have someone to lean on.

He’d watched human couples for so long that he couldn’t deny he was jealous, She would let them have what She would not give her oldest children. An even deeper part of his heart had wanted it to be Aziraphale, but that had been a want so deep and unforgiving it bruised because he _knew_ , as well as he knew his name was Crowley, that it would never be in the cards. There was no reason to believe that he would ever be anything more in the angel’s eyes than a demon who could occasionally be useful.

But here he was, in Crowley’s home, on Crowley’s sofa, pressed up against Crowley’s body and saying _I’m here, I’m here for you._ And Crowley didn’t know how to process the sudden acknowledgement, didn’t know how to feel _seen_ and not _exposed._ The only thing he knew, in that moment, that was if Aziraphale left he would not survive it.

Crowley couldn’t find the words to explain what was happening in him, so he did the only thing he could think of. He leaned forward and kissed one of Aziraphale’s eyes, then the other, and then he whispered against the man’s lips, “ _I_ _promise_.”

Aziraphale sighed with relief, a tension that Crowley hadn’t noticed in him loosened and he felt the man wrap his arms around his shoulders. Crowley let himself be pulled down until he covered every inch of the smaller man with his body, his face tucked neatly into Aziraphale’s neck, nose nudging a little against the underside of his jaw. He let the peace settle over them in the late night quiet for a moment, trying to hold the idea _this is real holy fuck_ over the darkly sinister thought that he would wake at any moment to find himself alone and even worse off than before.

It seemed that somehow Crowley telegraphed his worry and Aziraphale picked up on it. His hands smoothed over Crowley’s back, trying to pull him closer like he could tuck Crowley inside his chest and keep him there. He murmured in Crowley’s ear words of comfort as he tried to soothe the battle inside. Crowley almost wanted to cry at the tenderness of it all, the gentleness burning almost like hellfire.

Instead he wormed his arms around the angel’s shoulders pinned to the sofa, and then he miracled them to his bedroom.

Aziraphale startled a little, but with the expanse now suddenly available to him on Crowley’s unnecessarily large bed, it seemed a particular determination resolved in him. Crowley very quickly found the man shoving at him and was surprised at the strength now pressing him quite firmly into the mattress, Aziraphale sitting in his lap with his hands bracing him on either side of Crowley’s head. The demon’s hands had automatically flown to the other man’s hips in the motion and he clung to them now as his heart tried its damn best to reach light speeds.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Aziraphale said low but with a firmness that sent a shiver up Crowley’s spine, “and you’re going to _let_ me.”

Crowley nodded shakily as Aziraphale held his gaze, fondness and exasperation and so much _love_ Crowley wanted to run and hide from it. So much love that Crowley knew it could burn him up and leave him begging for more. So much love that Crowley knew he would never have to beg for anything ever, Aziraphale would _give_ him whatever he wanted and so much more than he deserved.

Crowley fisted one hand in Aziraphale’s collar and pulled him down, rising slightly to meet him as he tried to put everything he couldn’t say yet into a punishing kiss.

Aziraphale was beautifully responsive as Crowley licked his way into the angel’s mouth, reveling in the taste and idly thinking that he had never imagined the slight touch of bitterness or that Aziraphale’s hands would be unable to hold still. The man tugged at Crowley’s shirt buttons furiously, didn’t even bother to take it completely off before he dived in to bite gently along Crowley’s collarbone.

Crowley swore colorfully as one hand twisted in the sheets and the other locked in Aziraphale’s mess of curls. His eyes squeezed shut as the other man sucked a bruise into the hollow of his neck, gasping at the sensation.

At one point after Aziraphale had spent a good few minutes diligently mapping Crowley’s chest with his tongue, undoing more buttons as he slowly worked his way down, Crowley felt like he should probably contribute. So he tried to push the waistcoat from the angel’s shoulders only to have his hands batted away.

“My dear, I don’t know if you truly understand what I mean when I said ‘I’m going to take care of you’. If you want something you tell me and I do it.”

There was a hint of humor in Aziraphale’s voice as he tried—and failed—to look stern. His pupils were blown wide and his eyes looked like black holes Crowley couldn’t help but fall into.

“So I’m going to ask you, Crowley, and you _will_ tell me—” All the blood in the demon’s body rushed very quickly south at _that_ tone, commanding and filled with such promise. “What is it, _exactly_ , that you want?”

He didn’t know how to respond, Crowley wasn’t someone who was used to being asked what he wanted, more likely he would be told to do something and it didn’t mean a damn thing if he didn’t like it. No one had ever cared about what Crowley wanted.

Except Aziraphale. Aziraphale who asked him about his desires in a million small ways. _Would you like to join me for dinner? Would you like to go for a walk, where should we go? What would you like to do today?_ Even before the whole Arrangement, before thoughts of love and want had formed into anything coherent. Crowley would seek him out but it was Aziraphale who made him stay.

“I—” he started as he watched the angel watch him patiently. For all that he was in the business of secret thoughts and desires, Crowley didn’t think he’d actually ever voiced his own aloud. “I want you, angel. However you want until you don’t want to anymore.”

He must have said the wrong thing because a frown settled in the corners of Aziraphale’s swollen lips and he sat back a bit to really _look_ at Crowley. His hands braced his weight on Crowley’s chest, thumb absentmindedly running over the blooming darkness on his neck.

“What do you think I want, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked after a long moment, carefully neutral in a way that caused Crowley’s heart to race with fear instead of desire.

Aziraphale must have seen the panic in his face and quickly pulled Crowley upright and wrapped him in a tight hug.

“I do not mean to scare you. I simply want to know we’re on the same page,” he soothed, running his fingers over the planes of Crowley’s back. Crowley hesitantly nodded and pressed his nose into Aziraphale’s neck, letting the familiar scent calm him.

“You’ll get tired of me,” he finally whispered into the warm skin, not wanting to speak but found himself unable to stop. “It’ll be fun, for a while, but eventually you’ll see—”

Aziraphale pushed at his shoulder and it felt like Crowley had been punched in the face, That was it, he’d finally done it, he’d finally—

As soon as Crowley was just far enough away, Aziraphale put his hands firmly on either side of the man’s face and forced him to meet his eyes. There was a deep anger there and Crowley wanted to drink a whole thermos of holy water. He deserved it for putting that look on an angel’s face.

“There has never been a time, past, present, or future, that I have not wanted you. I didn’t know what it was for a long time, but I know I was always happiest when you were there. If I could punish them for what they’ve done to you, their pain would be a warning never forgotten.”

In that moment, the man that loved old books and ethically sourced sushi was gone and in his place was what humans had long forgotten angels _really_ were. Crowley could see the many unblinking eyes and the flare of wings, the smell of Grace burned in his nose. He felt the power wash over him and he knew his instincts should be screaming at him to run, that this could destroy him.

But it was Aziraphale and Crowley could no more be scared of him than he could reverse his fall.

“Angel—” he breathed.

“You are _mine_ , Crowley, and if you want me around forever than that is how long I will stay. I’m not leaving until you tell me too.”

Crowley felt something in him crack open and he softly wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s wrist. He let himself sit in the quiet and feel the strong, steady pulse there under his fingertips. He tried desperately to find the right words.

The thing about words though, is that they’re quite a fickle thing. There’s plenty when you don’t need them but the second you go looking there’s none to find.

So after a moment struggling to find the elusive bastards and failing, Crowley decided that he’d always preferred action anyways and leaned in to kiss Aziraphale. He tried to show him everything he felt, kissed him so light and heartrendingly honest that he felt the last vestiges of displeasure leave the angel.

It didn’t stay soft for long though, and soon Crowley could feel them finally coming to a crossroads, a boundary that they’d never crossed but that they were resolutely walking—to be honest, more like sprinting—towards. There was a part of him that still whispered how easily this could disappear, but the weight of Aziraphale in his lap and his hands on Crowley’s face, his lips on Crowley’s lips felt grounding. He focused on learning how to wring the sweetest notes from the lips of an angel. _His_ angel.

Eventually they broke and leaned into each other, just breathing deeply of the same air. Crowley’s eyes fluttered for a moment as Aziraphale ran his hands slowly from his face to his shoulders, thumb just resting on his collarbone.

“I’ll ask again, my dear.” Aziraphale murmured, stroking over Crowley’s definitely sensitive neck. “What do _you_ want?”

The demon took a steadying breath, eyes closing as he tried to allow himself to ask for things he wanted so badly to take. So afraid of it breaking.

“I want you to fuck me until I don’t remember anything but your name.”

He heard Aziraphale slowly exhale and felt fingers under his chin. Crowley must have finally said the right thing as he opened his eyes to see the man smiling so brightly. Aziraphale touched his finger to Crowley’s bottom lip, pressed it slightly in and Crowley had to taste.

“Oh darling,” he almost purred, “it would be my _absolute_ pleasure.”

Crowley was suddenly pushed backwards, his now open shirt shoved to his elbows and pinned his arms beneath him. He hit the bed and Aziraphale followed, kissing him quick and hard before he took full advantage of Crowley’s restraint to fully explore his exposed chest. He chuckled when, upon giving a probing flick to a nipple, Crowley bucked hard enough to cause them both to hiss at the pressure.

Aziraphale started at the top and worked his way down methodically, and very thoroughly. He explored every inch of available skin with thumb, tongue, and teeth. Crowley felt like he was going to explode.

The fact that he was about to burst out of his skin was not lost on Aziraphale, who kissed every twitching muscle and continued on with his work. Crowley moaned shamelessly when the man laved at the soft hairs of his stomach, wrestling to free himself from his shirt.

“ _Fuck. Shit._ I just want to _touch_ you—” he swore. He swore even louder when Aziraphale rolled a nipple between his fingers.

“I know, dear, but tonight is about reminding you of your place here with me. You can touch all you want to next time.” Crowley’s heart soared at the words _next time_ , and then all thoughts were forgotten as Aziraphale took hold of his belt and quickly got it off. There were no more thoughts in Crowley’s head except _Iloveyoumoremoremore_.

A line of nipping kisses burned along the thin skin right above his waistband and Crowley damn near lost it when Aziraphale— _quite knowingly_ —managed to open the button easily with his _teeth_.

“ _Wha_ —Where—” he gaped, at least a bit shocked by the man’s uncharacteristically forward actions.

Aziraphale laughed, so warm Crowley wanted to sun in it. “While I tend to keep to myself, I’ve been around far too long not to pick up a thing or two.”

“A thing or two,” Crowley repeated weakly, hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. Anything to keep him from losing his absolute shit as the man returned to the task at hand.

The angel kissed hot, open-mouthed and feather light along the length of Crowley’s zipper. Abruptly all that separated those miraculous lips and him was air. He laid there, breathing hard through his nose. Watched with wide eyes as Aziraphale looked up and, with a look of absolute innocence, licked a strip from root to tip along Crowley’s already leaking cock.

If he hadn’t been firmly holding his hips, the man would have been thrown back as Crowley went electric at the touch. He hissed with want as Aziraphale began to wrap his tongue around the sensitive underside of the head.

“ _Oh, f-fuck,_ ” he stuttered as he tried to get as close to the man as he could, chasing the sparks flaring under his skin everywhere it met that holy form. Crowley knew from stolen touches over the years that Aziraphale had the softest skin. _Everything_ about Aziraphale was soft, except for his eyes. Most of the time they were soft, full of life’s pleasures and quiet flashes in time where they got to forget that Heaven and Hell exist, and just _exist_ as the two of them.

Crowley and Aziraphale. Mr. A. Z. Fell and Co.

But they could go hard, not cruel, but determined and immovable. That was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. That was the man standing at the end of the world with a sword he’d never really claimed but held with such resolve. Ready to do whatever it took.

As Aziraphale swallowed Crowley down, he rubbed a thumb over his iliac bone. The demon had noticed in the last couple of months as they’d gotten bolder with touching each other that it was something he liked to do often, it seemed an unconscious gesture. A way of caring in a small, rhythmic stroke. Crowley thought he loved it but he wasn’t likely to mention it to Aziraphale soon.

He arched off the bed as he let himself be there, with his angel who twisted around him and guided him towards the edge. When Aziraphale pressed his tongue against the ridged nerve on the back of his cock and sucked _hard_ Crowley had to bite back a scream as he glared wildly at the man. Only muffled chuckles met his gaze and he threw his head back as the vibrations surrounded him.

Just as it became almost too much, Aziraphale released him and paused, watching Crowley and simply smiling. His face was glowing with love, with care, a little playful at the edges. The face of a future Crowley wanted to follow, _would_ follow even if it all went up in fire and water. In total annihilation. He was a planet caught in the orbit of an incredible sun and he would follow Aziraphale to whatever end.

As Crowley watched Aziraphale smile at him, he thought that he’d been pretty good so far, all things considered. So he grinned wickedly down at his angel and performed his own minor miracle.

“My dear,” the now nude man admonished.

“What? I just thought, _he must be uncomfortable, hot as he is. Why don’t I do him a_ —”

Seemingly, Aziraphale did not believe his perfectly reasonable story, because he still happened to be holding Crowley’s cock and he gave it a firm squeeze that left the man gasping.

“Well, at least I should repay your kind gesture,” he said seriously, eyes full of laughter. Aziraphale slid a little further down the bed as a small clear bottle appeared by them. Crowley looked on with rapt attention as he casually uncapped it, spread a bit of the clear gel on his fingers. Then he slowly circled the small ring of muscle and lightly pushed, letting the man’s entrance pull him in.

Crowley’s eyes almost rolled back into his head and he closed them as he struggled to keep from exploding.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale said, voice like honey. “I never dreamed I would get to see you like this; so _open_ , so giving. But I wished, and now I get to show you exactly what you do to me.”

As the man spoke, he stroked his finger steadily, hitting Crowley’s prostate with every thrust. Pinned arms underneath him, Crowley’s hips left the mattress as he practically vibrated down to his bones.

“If you don’t move with a little more urgency, angel, I’m feeding you to the du— _ah!_ ” He cut off as Aziraphale took the opportunity to add another finger and the stretch overwhelmed him.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Crowley didn’t respond as he lay there, chest heaving. “That’s better. You’re so lovely, but you can be so sarcastic when you don’t want me to see you. But I do and I love every bit of it.”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do again, like he was something to be _worshipped_. He occasionally pulled back enough to look at the man, and Crowley couldn’t hide from him. So he didn’t try, he looked back and he was sure that Aziraphale could read him like a book.

“Oh you _beautiful sight_ , you’re so gone already.” Aziraphale moved up enough to find Crowley’s lips and stole away all the breath he’d been trying to save. He choked as a well hit stroke sent shudders up his spine. Whimpered as Aziraphale methodically prepared him and the waves of pleasure made his body roil with the energy of it.

Before Crowley could get quite to the point of total frustration he found himself suddenly empty and calling out against it. Aziraphale shushed him, holding one cheek and kissing the other.

“You deserve to have what you want, Crowley. You deserve to be _you_ , and to be loved for it.” His tone was so sincere and devoted, it was too raw. Crowley craved it and wanted to run from it all at once.

“I’m going to give you what you want. Whatever you need,” Aziraphale murmured in his ear, “And you will take it _because_ you want it. Because you need it, and because you want to be good for me.”

If Crowley had been in anything remotely resembling his right mind he would be questioning where the man had learned to talk dirty because this was the cleanest filth he could imagine. But as he spoke, he finally grasped Crowley’s hips and gently pushed against the last resistance in him and passed through. There were no more thoughts to be had.

At first, Aziraphale moved unbearably slow, shallow thrusts that grew deeper as they both acclimatized to this new point of contact. Soon though it wasn’t enough and the pace became punishing, sparks flying through Crowley.

“I wish you could see yourself,” the angel panted, “You’re _picturesque_.” He wrapped a hand around Crowley’s cock and began to stroke in time with each hit of his prostate. There was no air or thought to respond; he could barely keep himself together as muscles tensed and released in a rapid flutter. All he could do was latch onto that voice and the feeling of the man moving within him.

Crowley met every impact mindlessly and soon felt the draw of a precipice. He stiffened around Aziraphale and screamed through clenched teeth as pressure built at his core.

As he brought the man up to the edge, Aziraphale kissed his jaw. “Just like that, darling. I know you’re ready but hold on please.” Crowley choked on a sob as he struggled to do what was asked. It was too much, it was like ripping time to a screeching halt. Aziraphale was in him and all around him, there was nowhere where he did not exist. In every atom the man had inserted himself and made a home. Crowley didn’t know if they could ever be truly separated, but even if they could it would destroy him.

He was burning to the ground. He was drowning in a hurricane. Trapped in the middle of an elemental force, all he could do was bite out Aziraphale’s name.

After what felt like an eternity of relentless building, Aziraphale leaned in to nip at his lips and said, “It’s alright, Crowley, you can let go now.”

Crowley went _supernova_. Everything stopped and he flew outwards in a million fiery pieces. In some distant part he felt Aziraphale stutter and release, but he could do no more than repeat the man’s name.

Harsh breaths echoed in the room and there was a ringing in Crowley’s ear. The first thing he heard on coming back was the voice of an angel.

“— _so good_. You are wonderful, my dear. Let me see those beautiful eyes.” Crowley struggled to blink the stars from his eyes as he focused in one the pale blond hair and sky blue eyes before him. Aziraphale smiled. “There you are.”

He now lay beside and half on Crowley, arm thrown over his chest and stroking at a rib above the demon’s slowly steadying heart. He looked so beautiful with his soft face flushed and a weary but sated look. Crowley laced his fingers with the other man’s and kissed their clasped hands before letting them rest.

It felt like some unknown weight had been taken from him and the removal left him floating. Only the solid weight of Aziraphale at his side kept him grounded. That, it now seemed, had always been the case. Aziraphale was a tether Crowley had always firmly tied himself to.

That path of thinking seemed to lead to a lot of emotions he didn’t really want to review at present, so he quirked an eyebrow and said, “So you mentioned a _next time?_ Because I have some ideas.”

Crowley shot for nonchalant, but clearly didn’t hit the mark when Aziraphale sighed and pressed even closer.

“There will be as many ‘ _next times_ ’ as you would like. The only thing that could make me leave is if you wished it.”

Like a spooked horse shying from danger, Crowley very deliberately did not follow the line of what kind of thing could ever lead to such an unbelievable reality. Instead, he turned to kiss the man’s forehead.

“There is no way I would ever do that. Might as well cut myself open with a dull knife,” he said quietly after a long moment.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and then, like the first sunrise, he grinned. An almost wild thing full of happiness and hope. He grinned like he’d been told he’d be given an original _Inferno_ with included author notes—he already had _Paradiso_ , but Dante had given _Inferno_ to a fool that burned it. Like he’d been told he had a lifetime table free at the Ritz. Like he had been blessed.

“ _Well_ ,” he drew out eventually, “I certainly wouldn’t want you to come to harm. Best to just keep you right here where I can keep an eye on you.”

And Crowley—who had always questioned every word ever given to him—looked down as Aziraphale’s eyes grew heavy and drooped, and believed him.

**Author's Note:**

> guys. I've never in my life written any kind of smut, so you can imagine how hard I facepalmed through writing this. Someone for the love of god please come up with an acceptable word for penis as I hate all of them.


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